


On Escaping a Relentless Suitor

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Female Reader, Outdoor Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 15:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16704904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: When an opportunity to escape Sean's flirting presents itself,  you jump at the chance. Arthur is more than happy to help you.





	On Escaping a Relentless Suitor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text: "Could you do an Arthur x Reader NSFW where Sean has been flirtin it up with reader ever since he got back, and Arthur and Reader go on a mission together, he asks about it and expresses his displeasure and things get s t e a m y"

“A cup of coffee for a pretty lady.”

You look up from your book to see Sean place a steaming cup of coffee in front of you. You smile politely as he sits next to you.

“Thanks, Sean.”

“Think I deserve a kiss for that, don’t I?”

And there it is - the flirting. You barely hold in an exasperated sigh, and hope your frown is somewhat hidden by your cup as you take a sip of coffee. It was cute in the beginning - you had thought it a joke, and even flirted back. But as the months went by, it became more and more obvious that he was serious; and despite you making it clear that you weren’t interested, he had not been deterred in the least.

You were happy when he was freed and had returned safe and sound - you were less pleased when he picked right back up from where he had left off. It has barely been a couple of days since his return, but he is already starting to drive you crazy.

“That’s gonna be for another time,” you answer as you return to your book, which anyone else would have taken for a clear dismissal. But this was Sean; as muleheaded and oblivious as ever. He leans toward you.

“Now, what’s a lovely woman like you’s gotta be so sour about?”

You raise your book just a bit higher, enough so that he doesn’t see you looking around for any reason to escape. Your eyes stray over to Dutch’s tent; he, Arthur and Hosea seem in the middle of a heated discussion. You wonder what they’re talking about. You see Arthur throw up his hands and turn away; you know you’re staring as he strides across the camp and toward the horses, but Sean snaps you out of it.

“Hey, you hearin’ me?”

“I just - “ your eyes flick back to Arthur, and you see he’s looking at you. You hold his gaze for half a moment before looking back to Sean. “I have to go.”

You stand and leave before he can say anything, making a beeline for Arthur as he climbs into his saddle. You catch up with him just as he’s leading his horse toward the trail that leads out of camp.

“Arthur! Arthur!” You call out.

He turns his head and pulls on his horse’s reins when he sees you come up to him.

“Please tell me you’re leaving,” you say, not even taking the time to greet him.

“Yeah, I am,” he answers. “Didn’t know you wanted me gone so badly.”

You huff out a laugh, realising how you sound.

“That ain’t it,” you assure him with a smile. “It’s just - I feel like I’m gonna shoot somebody if I stay here much longer. Please, _please_ take me with you. I don’t even care where we goin’.”

He takes a moment to think, looking you over as if he was seeing you for the first time. You feel heat rising in your cheeks under his intense gaze.

“Well.... I was plannin’ on robbin’ a stagecoach somewhere North of Strawberry - got a good tip from Trelawny,” he finally says. “Suppose I could use another gun. Gonna be a two day trip, though.”

You sigh in relief at his words.

“Thank you,” you say before turning away. “Gimme a minute.”

You rush back to your tent - giving Sean a wide berth - to gather your weapons and change from your dress into a pair of pants and a shirt, returning to Arthur a few minutes later.

“You ready?” He asks, patting his horse’s neck as you climb on yours.

“Ready,” you answer, spurring your mount into a trot to follow him out of the trees.

“Coach will be drivin’ through Black Bone Forest tomorrow morning,” he explains as you both ride along the main road, your horse falling in step with his easily. “Just a couple of guards - easy work. I was plannin’ on just shootin’ the lot of them - but with you, we might be able to create a distraction.”

You plan together as you ride - in the end, you decide that brute force is the best course of action. On an isolated stretch of road such as Black Bone Forest, there is little need for subtlety.

You ride through Strawberry in the late afternoon, and by the time you reach Hawks Eye Creek, where Arthur wants to make camp, the sun is setting.

“I’m gonna go get us some dinner,” you say after getting the fire going. “Unlike you, I ain’t a fan of beans in a can.”

That draws a chuckle from him. It’s always nice to hear him laugh - and it seems so rare these days.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll put up the tents.”

The woods are teeming with game, and it doesn’t take you long to find two rabbits - more than enough to feed you both - though night has already fallen by the time you’re ready to return to camp. You make your way there slowly, taking careful steps over the uneven and treacherous terrain. Once you’re close enough, you let the light of the campfire guide you. As you come out of the trees, you see that the tents have been put up, but there is no sign of Arthur. You step further into the circle of light, scanning the forest around you. You finally spy the top of his hat over a dead tree stump down near the water. You drop the rabbits next to the campfire and tiptoe closer. He’s sitting on the ground, back against the stump and one leg up as he rests his journal against his knee - sketching? There’s not enough light for you to tell what exactly he’s drawing.

“Workin’ hard?” you say as you come up next to him. If you startled him, he shows no sign of it. He flips his journal closed in a split-second, putting it away in his satchel.

“You know me,” he says, smiling up at you.

“Yeah, I do,” you answer as you lower yourself next to him. “Got us some rabbits.”

“Good. Ain’t hungry just yet.”

“Me neither.”

You both fall silent, and you take in the sight in front of you. The water of Hawks Eye Creek glimmers in the moonlight as it bounces over the rocks on the riverbed, whispering quietly in the silence of the night. You feel Arthur’s eyes on you, but he looks away when you turn to look at him. You can’t help but smile.

“Pretendin’ you ain’t lookin’ at me? That’s childish of you, Arthur.”

He chuckles and meets your eyes for half a second before looking up at the stars.

“Suppose it is,” he answers. He stays silent a moment before clearing his throat and speaking once more. “Say, this might not be any of my business, but I been wonderin’... You and Sean…?”

Your scoff cuts him off, and he gives you a quizzical look.

“Wouldn’t be any business of yours if there was any,” you say. “But there isn’t. He’s been flirtin’ with me since before Blackwater. I haven’t changed my mind yet - and I don’t think I ever will.”

You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, but there suddenly seems to be less tension to his shoulders, one less shadow to his face. You feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Why?” You can’t help but ask. A small - but vocal - part of you is hoping his intentions aren’t completely conversational.

“Oh, you know,” he answers, gesturing vaguely. For an outlaw, you had always found him to be a terrible liar - to you, at least. “I see you together all the time - I was just wonderin’, is all.”

“Right,” you say mockingly. If he picks up on it, he doesn’t show it. “Just _wonderin’_.”

He dips his head forward until the rim of his hat obscures almost his entire face. You reach out and flick it up, away from his head, revealing his hidden smile. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight. You always did find him handsome: here, with just a hint of firelight highlighting his jaw and moonlight in his hair, he was a sight to behold.

“What’s that for?” he asks, taking off his hat entirely and setting it down next to him.

“I wanna see your face, not your hat,” you answer without thinking.

You think he might tease you on that, but he only laughs dryly.

“Don’t know why anyone would wanna do that, but fine,” he says.

You frown at his words.

“I do,” you say, and you don’t even think about the weight of your words. You see him look at you out of the corner of his eye, doubt written plain of his face. You draw closer, suddenly feeling bold. He seems frozen in place as your hand reaches for his cheek.

“I like this,” you say, tracing his jawline, lingering at the scar on his chin, “and this.” You let your fingertips smooth over his cheekbones. You slowly feel him relax under your touch - even leaning into your hand slightly. “And don’t think I’m forgettin’ about this.” Your thumb traces over his lips, slowly, softly. He looks at you with a heat you had dreamed - but had never dared to hope - to one day see in his eyes, though he is still motionless. You suddenly feel ridiculous, and you’re about to pull away, but you feel him reach out and then, all at once, he is drawing you against him and finding your lips for a passionate kiss. You melt in his arms immediately, bringing one hand to the nape of his neck while you rake your fingers through his hair with the other. You can’t help a soft moan as he wraps his arms tighter around you.

Then, as suddenly as he started kissing you, he stops, leaning away and taking his hands off you as if burned. You suspect he would have turned away entirely had you not been holding him yourself.

“I - Sorry,” he stutters, visibly flustered. The sight makes you smile. You had never expected _Arthur Morgan_ , of all people, to get _flustered_. “You don’t want this - “

Your smile fades, replaced by concern - and, if you’re honest with yourself, a bit of annoyance.

“I _do_ ,” you cut him off, and you can’t quite believe you have to say it out loud. Is he blatantly ignoring the way you kissed him back, or how close you’re holding him? “I want this. I want _you_.”

He looks at you - there is both uncertainty and adoration in his eyes. You decide to take matters into your own hands. You straddle him, too quickly for him to stop you - not that you think he would have, anyway, before kissing him again. You feel his resistance crumble little by little as his hands return to your hips, gripping hard as if afraid you might slip away. But you won’t. The night is getting colder, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt as warm as you do now.

“Been thinkin’ about this longer than I should admit,” he whispers against your lips.

“Yeah?” Your hands move to the front of his shirt, slowly starting to slip the buttons free. He doesn’t stop you. “How long?”

“You really wanna know?” he asks, shifting his grip from your hips to your thighs. At your nod, he answers. “Soon as you joined us.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Mr. Morgan, we barely knew each other! Do you often think about strangers in such a way?” You ask in your best imitation of a high society accent as you pull his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his pants. The contrast between your words and your actions is not lost upon you. “How lewd.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he answers. You hear him take in a sharp breath as you splay one hand over his bare chest. “My most sincere apologies to the lady currently undressin’ me.”

You manage a breathy chuckle as his lips find your neck. You start working on undoing your own shirt, and he draws back to watch you work each button free. His eyes rake over you when you finally undo the last one, your shirt hanging open. One hand smoothes up your thigh, over your hips, until he reaches your waist, just above the line of your pants, settling there for a second before his fingers trail up again, caressing the curve of your breast before he finally reaches your shoulder. _May I?_ he asks silently, and you nod, feeling him push the shirt off you. He leans forward to lay soft kisses to the newly exposed skin, and you shiver at the warmth of his mouth.

“I - “ his thumb brushing your nipple almost makes you choke on your words. “I’ve wanted this for a long time too.”

You feel his mouth leave your skin as he looks up at you.

“Ain’t that a little improper, my lady?” he asks, and you laugh before trying to kiss the smirk off his face, though you feel him smiling against your lips even as he kisses you back fiercely. You feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and you press yourself down, drawing a loud groan from him.

“What was that, Mr. Morgan?” You ask, innocently batting your eyelashes at him as you grind against him again, and again, rocking back and forth, sending small shivers of pleasure up your own spine even as he growls and moans against your ear. His hands are on your thighs again, gripping so tight that you’re sure there’ll be bruises - but you don’t care.

“Jesus, woman,” he pants when you finally relent, lifting yourself off him and standing up.

“Never took you for a religious man, Mr. Morgan. Should I stop?” You ask as you start undoing your trousers. Down on the ground, you see him do the same.

“Better finish what you started,” he replies as you slide both your underwear and pants down your legs until you can kick them away. The shirt stays on, though - you think it’d be quite unfair to be the only one completely undressed.

“I sure intend to,” you breathe as you settle back down into his lap, your own hands joining his, reaching inside his trousers to find him and draw his length from the confines of his clothes. He hisses at your touch, his hands returning to your thighs before one moves between your legs. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his rough fingers against you, your hips rolling against his hand reflexively before he pushes one finger inside you, moving slowly.

“Watched that fool flirt with you for months,” he murmurs against your throat. You gasp when he adds a second finger. “Everytime, I just wanted to walk right up and kiss you right there in front of him.”

“Would have saved me some trouble,” you manage to say, and you hear him huff out a laugh.

You stroke him in time with his own touch, up and down and up again, until he’s breathing hard, bucking slightly into your hand as he peppers kisses over your collarbone. You had never expected him to be so tender, so soft - you’d think that a man such as he would have forgotten how to be gentle a long time ago.

“I’m ready,” you whisper in his ear. He looks up at you before removing his hand from you and placing it back on your thigh - you can feel your own wetness on his fingers - as you lift yourself off him, just enough to line yourself up and sink down on him. You bite your lip as you push down, down - until, finally, you have all of him. The stretch is uncomfortable, but not painful.

“Shit…“ you hear him breathe. There is a teasing jab on the tip of your tongue, but he rolls his hips up into yours before you can speak, and all that leaves your mouth is a long, thin moan. You grip his shoulders to steady yourself.

“You alright?” he asks, and you can tell by the strain in his voice that he is trying so, _so_ hard to be still, to not move until you tell him you’re okay. You simply nod, unable to manage a single word, overwhelmed as you are.

He starts slow - making sure you’re truly okay - before he picks up the pace, until you can barely think over the pleasure that builds within you. It seems to you like every inch of your skin is on fire, and you are ready to let it consume you without a second thought.

“Good girl,” you hear him say against your neck. You don’t know if he’s talking to you, or himself, but you feel yourself tighten around his length at the sound of his voice. “Doing so well. Such a good girl.”

You start to fall apart when he reaches between your legs and rubs tight circles at the center of your pleasure, effortlessly wrenching loud moans from you, his other hand pressing at the small of your back to bring you even closer to him as he whispers filthy things in a low, raw voice. In a brief moment of lucidity, you tangle your fingers in his hair and angle your head down so that you can kiss him before your pleasure gets the better of you. He doesn’t stop until you’re finally thrown over the edge, chasing his own release even as you find yours.

“Arthur,” you moan against his hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Arthur…”

That breaks him, and he can only manage a groan as he pushes up into you once, twice, thrice more before he is still, panting against the underside of your jaw as you thread your fingers through his hair and hold him close. Minutes crawl by before either of you can manage a single word.

“Well, I sure wasn’t expectin’ that when we left this mornin’” he says, chuckling as he looks up at you. “But I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t _hopin’_ for it.”

You still have the grace to blush at his words, though you’re smiling as you press a kiss against his forehead and move off him, but not before whispering conspiratorially in his ear two words that make him look at you with a renewed hunger.

“Me too.”

  
  
  



End file.
